


Holy Trinity

by a_little_chai



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Agnostic Character, Character Study, Episode: s02e15 Revelations, Fate, Gen, Hurt Spencer Reid, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Predestination, Religion, Revelations, Russian Roulette, Short One Shot, Spencer Reid Whump, Stream of Consciousness, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22473148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_little_chai/pseuds/a_little_chai
Summary: But then they were there, the three. The holy trinity. Holding a pile of firewood to stoke the fire, like they themselves weren't some perfect metaphor for everything.The good one. The evil one. The unfeeling one. Each serves a different purpose, each fulfills some obligation that their God requires. Because He doesn't need all perfect, utopian people. He needs the sadistic ones, the sociopathic ones. The ones that don't understand right from wrong or simply don't give a shit. And the creature in front of him now is that.The perfect weapon.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Holy Trinity

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for clicking on this. The work itself is super short, and just something I wrote when I should have been sleeping. Enjoy!
> 
> No warnings.

There was something indeterminable about reality. It has this way of shifting, forming and conforming to fit your nightmares. As though God himself was against you, plotting every move to wear you down and break every part of you. 

The world kept shifting. The small light provided little enough light that his imagination started to fill in the blanks. He saw monsters in the shadows, with sharp teeth and brutal claws made of sins and verses. The whispered their vile filth into his ear, repeating the words he had heard again and again for the past... however long it has been. 

How long has it been? How long has he been sitting here, smelling those burning guts and dreaming while still awake? Two days? Three? 

The door swung open. His hands started to shake. Was it fear, or something else? That something so much worse than the terror that sits in his bones could ever be? It didn't matter anyways. He was still... sinful? 

No! No, he was not evil. He was an FBI agent, for godsake! He devoted his life to saving others from the worst people that came out of this wretched world. He couldn't be sinful. He couldn't be evil. 

He couldn't be. 

He couldn't be. 

He couldn-

But then they were there, the three. The holy trinity. Holding a pile of firewood to stoke the fire, like they themselves weren't some perfect metaphor for everything. 

The good one. The evil one. The unfeeling one. Each serves a different purpose, each fulfills some obligation that their God requires. Because He doesn't need all perfect, utopian people. He needs the sadistic ones, the sociopathic ones. The ones that don't understand right from wrong or simply don't give a shit. And the creature in front of him now is that. 

The perfect weapon. 

So it didn't matter which facet was standing in front of him right now. And it didn't matter whether he was as good as a man could be. All that mattered was the revolver in a worn, scarred hand, and the silver bullets that were being loaded into it. 

God doesn't care about good or evil, right or wrong. Much like any other sadist, He thrives off people's pain, whether they are pure or not. His team is out there, searching for him. God wouldn't just get his pain, his fear, both from his impeding death and the final loss of control that he's been holding onto desperately his whole life. No, He would get there pain too. Their tears and anger and sadness, with pitiful prayers and loud screams. 

The Weapon was holding the revolver straight towards him. The muzzle rested lightly on his forehead, the cool metal perfect against his overheated skin. His murder weapon bringing him some measure of comfort.

He tried one, final prayer. To the God he didn't believe in, but knows is there. To his team, to be strong when he's not with them and can't tell them. And to the universe, for there to be something more than this. Something better. 

Because he knew, deep inside. Somewhere in him, he just knew. That the bullet inside the gun would hit him right in the head just as surely as if it was inscribed with his name. 

The first click sounded.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider jumping down and adding a kudo or comment! Thanks!
> 
> ~You are loved, and never alone. We are here for you, and you are enough.~


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